


Against Better Judgement: Part 5 of "The Sky's Altar Aflame"

by Cyra (lc_144725)



Series: The Sky's Altar Aflame [5]
Category: Being Human (US/Canada)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:28:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21726778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lc_144725/pseuds/Cyra
Summary: Determined to keep Aidan at arm's length, Aracelis does the only thing she apparently can do: runs away after having sex with him. Apparently even Siphons are prone to fail in controlling their impulses. Unfortunately, however, Sally gets dragged into the post-sex regret too.
Series: The Sky's Altar Aflame [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1108233
Kudos: 1





	Against Better Judgement: Part 5 of "The Sky's Altar Aflame"

**Author's Note:**

> Reminder: I have made (and will make) no promises that this series will be linear, keep up with continuity, seem like they’re meant to be in the same storyline, use the same tenses, or generally make sense (individually and/or together). I write these as they come to me regardless of any bits of the series contradicting or supporting them. I MIGHT go back in later, once the series is completed, and fix all of that. For now, however, it’s vital for anyone reading to understand that I’m writing this for me and no one else; I’m sharing it simply because I can.  
> It’s also worth mentioning that I had the idea for an ability Aracelis has (which shows up in this work) long before I read Terry Goodkind’s Sword of Truth series but I stole some minor details of it (the feeling of the impact) from him so I felt the need to make sure I wasn’t claiming that as entirely mine.  
>  Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading!

I don’t want to open my eyes. The softness of the pillow against the side of my face and the feeling of security in the arm around my waist is soothing. The scent of someone I know surrounds me but I’m too tired to put thought to whose it is. In truth half-asleep me doesn’t give a damn about much. Besides, I must adore them according to the way I feel: safe, sated, a comfortable cool of contentment washing over me with every easy breath. A light brush of hair tickles my neck as I pry my eyes open and pick my head up. Alarm clock numbers, red and bright against the darkness of the room, read 2:37. That’s when it clicks. 

First: I’m not in my own home. _Fuck_.

Second: I slept with Aidan. _Double_ _fuck_. Or, triple, technically?

Eyes wide open now and body stiffening, I take a moment to process, trying to decide on a reaction. I fail. The only thought I can summon is a repetitive _get out, get out_ reverberating through my mind. But I can’t let him know I’m leaving; that’s definitely not a conversation I’m prepared to have.

If I leave in my traditional fashion, the light would wake him.

Not an option.

If I slip from his embrace, he might wake.

Not an _ideal_ option.

If I move his arm, he might wake.

Not an ideal option, once again.

There doesn’t seem to be an ideal option available and my anxiety that Aidan will wake regardless of my actions grows with every blink of the colon between the 2 and _42 now?_ Dammit I need to leave. I refuse to use magic on him, although I have before. It felt wrong then, it feels wrong now, and I have wronged him enough. Taking a deep breath, I gently remove his arm from around my waist and slip out of the bed, preventing the floor and bed from creaking. Thank you, magic. Of course, because this life is mine, most of my clothes are torn and strewn about the room. I make a mental checklist of the essentials as I gather them and clothe myself, tendrils of my magic mending them as I go along: _bra, check, underwear, check, top, check- wait, was this originally a crop top? Fuck- there’s the other half. Okay,_ _now top, check, pants, check, and… shoes, check!_ I can stand to leave any less significant items, I decide; I’m low on time. Absorbing the sound from the door so that Aidan can’t hear, I open it and peer out into the hallway, my heightened senses already telling me no one’s there, but my paranoia demanding I check anyway. I sigh, trying to calm myself. It doesn’t stop my hands from shaking.

“You’re leaving.” I whip around to face Aidan, standing a few feet behind me, arms crossed and a cold look in his eyes. Armor. He’s protecting himself from me. It hurts a little, but I know it’s for the best. He should be afraid.

“Yes.”

“Don’t.” It’s a plea, a last-ditched effort he knows won’t work.

“You know I can’t do that. This never should’ve happened. I’m sorry.” It’s so cliché I’m disgusted just saying it. But that’s a good thing. The more he thinks I don’t care, don’t care enough to stay or come up with something better, the more likely he is to stay away.

“I know you won’t.”

“This isn’t up for discussion, Aidan.” I have to put my foot down. There’s no way I can explain it to him. He’ll insist on holding onto the pipe dream of what we can never be and I don’t trust myself not to fall into it. Giving up on stealth altogether, I start down the hallway, walking but quickly, caught between wanting to maintain nonchalance but also my desperation not to let temptation ensnare me back in his bed, his arms, his _kisses_. Christ, I’m up a creek without a paddle and the walls are closing in and _fuck_ the front door couldn’t come fast enough. Halfway down the stairs I hear Aidan’s bedroom door open again and I close my eyes, taking a shaky breath just trying to focus on—

“Whoa!” The girl I nearly bump into squeaks. Reflexively, my hand shoots out to grab her arm, steadying her. Immediately, I sense her existence in another plane. Another _click_ sounds through my mind. Ghost. This must be Sally. _Tonight is one mistake after another._

“I’m sorry,” I rush out, futilely trying to pass her and get out.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, absolutely not.” Sally reaches for me, gripping my arm and forcing me to turn around. The way she looks at me makes my heart ache. I know that loneliness— the shock-sharp stab of hope that barrels right through you when you find someone's an exception. I also know the white-hot ice of it all going wrong. “I can touch you…” There it is.

I remember Aidan, pausing on the stairs and eyes fixed on where Sally’s holding my arm.

“It doesn’t matter now,” I say, rash impulse taking over with the rabbit-fast pound of panic in my veins. 

In a flash, my hand’s at Sally’s throat and time distorts. Everything is slowed, dragging on and on around me. The panic becomes a sluggish crawl of building power. I sense it affecting Aidan too. The fog of my magic has him gripping the stair railing. Any attempt he made to stop me wouldn't matter anymore. She’s mine. I haven’t commanded her yet, but the connection I forged the instant we touched drained her of any resistance. She doesn’t know her own name right now, can’t think— doesn’t want to. She’s waiting instead. A trail from my spine through my hand practically vibrates with the fire of power building and aching to get a shot at her. To break her. I wait. Time has no meaning. Just a touch was all it took. She’s _mine_. Everything is sapped from the air around us. If Aidan needed to breathe he’d feel like he was suffocating, noise and light becoming void in his senses as air drained away. When my veins glow, purples and reds and blues pulsing and cycling under my skin, I know what to say. “Forget me…” the soft command a spark in a pit of oil, I feel the moment my power slams through her, reverberating through her being and shattering her so she can be put back together the way I demanded.

She staggers back and I spare Aidan one last glance, riding the high of endorphins singing praises through my blood. He looks perplexed but not pained. Another peculiarity. Anyone else so close surely would’ve...

He does however look hurt, frustrated even, when I begin to dissipate and I can’t hide how much it hurts me too. I see him race toward me, hand reaching out only to be met with empty air, and then I’m gone.

Panting with the intoxication of magic and the struggle of pissing off my bond with Aidan juxtaposing into a war inside me, I lean against the wall of my bedroom. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I shake. It’s all too much. I haven’t used that particular ability in so long I forgot how much it took out of me. My skin crawls with a need to keep using magic, to lose control, just as my binding to Aidan wants to tear me down and fill me with so much misery it seeps from my pores. Leaving Aidan always aches, tears away at a piece of my soul calling out for him. We’re magically bound, I know that much. Who would’ve done it I don’t know. For what purpose I don’t know, but leaving him takes a heavy toll and compelling someone puts me on _such_ a power trip so I can’t handle the conflict. It makes me want to tear my skin off. I envy vampires in this moment. Compelling someone doesn’t do this to them. We have the ability to go about it in such different ways. And I know it makes sense. Siphons can do different things with compulsion, more powerful things. But that doesn’t change the sandpaper-grating-against-my-nerves feeling all over me. So I envy them instead, trying to distract myself while I wait it all out.

“Dammit,” I whisper to myself, all alone again. Sinking down to the floor, I put my head in my hands. How could I have been so stupid? I keep letting him get close. I keep giving in to temptation. I am a _Siphon_! I survived the Trials. I should be in better control than this. But instead I’ve fed his feelings for me— feelings that probably aren’t even real. How could I do this to him? “Dammit all to hell…”

**Author's Note:**

> Have fun; don't die; make new friends; don't talk to strangers! Remember I wish for all your tomorrows to be better than your yesterdays. Thank you for reading, my loves.


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